ANOTHER MEMORIAL DAY

When I was a junior staffer on the paper, with no seniority, I had to work every holiday. It was expected. And, I knew that if I stuck it out, eventually there would be staffers more junior than I and I could start taking holidays off.

So, today, it rained on my parade. Literally. No sooner did I park my car on Hempstead Tpk. to cover the Levittown Memorial Day Parade, than the skies lit up and the thunder crashed. The heavens opened up and it poured. I was about a quarter of a mile down the parade route and couldn't know if the parade had been canceled. I thought it might be. Who would take a chance on cub scouts and brownies carrying metal flag poles down an open road in an electrical storm?

There were a smattering of bystanders along the curb, seeking refuge in bus shelters or under umbrellas. I photographed them. If the parade was canceled, at least I had a relevant weather shot.

I had loaded 800 ASA film in my camera instead of my usual 200 ASA. Even with that, the exposures were a 125th of a second at about f.4. That meant I had to squeeze off my shots taken with the 80 mm to 200 mm zoom.

I heard applause from the crowd and turning around, I saw the flashing lights of the police escort leading off the parade. The streets were slick and reflective. The marchers and spectators were soaked. But, cheers went up along the parade route and the marchers responded with waves and smiles.

Then I went to a county park to see if anyone was attempting a barbecue or picnic in spite of the weather. I should have known. There are always die hards. It’s been a long, dank Spring in the Northeast and I guess people would do anything for an excuse to get out and pretend that Summer is finally here.

There was a girl's soccer league playing at the park, and soccer moms and dads were there cheering on their offspring from under umbrellas.

And, under some trees in the picnic area, some families had put up a large American Flag and a shelter and were starting to heat up their barbecue coals.

Another Memorial Day in small town America.

Regards, Dick Kraus

Newsday

Staff Photographer